'O-Dark-Thirty' Publishes Poem about Driving to Drill

Traditionally, National Guard soldiers attended regular military training drills close to home: In the village green, or at a camp ground, or at the local armory.

The latter building was a centerpiece of many communities, used as much for social gatherings as military musters. In fact, living in rural Iowa in the early 1990s, one could still navigate most any medium-sized town by surveying the locations of a few archetypical buildings: The courthouse, the bank, the fire station, the water tower, and the National Guard armory.

In the Iowa Army National Guard, we used to say that we were a locally grown organization with a statewide mission. Sons would enlist in the same units as had their fathers and grandfathers. If the local unit was Field Artillery, you were a cannon-cocker. If it was Infantry, you were a foot soldier. Just like pappy and grand-pappy.

Times, demographics, and missions change, however. Rural areas have lost population to urban concentrations. Daughters and wives are now just as likely to join the military, leading to still more family names on unit manning rosters. And, as they progress in rank, citizen-soldiers often find it necessary to transfer to other military units located in other towns, in order to find new challenges and opportunities for growth.

It used to be that only Iowa National Guard officers might be asked to drive more than an hour to their military unit. Now, many mid-level and senior enlisted soldiers willingly drive for hours to their parti-time military jobs. We've become a state organization with dwindling local roots.

In some (too few) assignments, I lived only five minutes from my bed to the armory's front door. In others, I was 55 minutes. For a long stretch of years, however, my monthly commute averaged around 2.5 hours. When the first formation of the day is 0800 hours, that means wheels-up by 0515—assuming good weather and road conditions, and that your presence isn't required at any pre-drill coordination meetings. At best, then, call it an 0430 wake-up—provided you've packed your duffel, shined your boots, and ground the coffee the night before. "We do more before 9 a.m. than most people do all day" wasn't always a lot of fun.

Looking back, however, some of my favorite times in uniform were spent driving to drill in the early-morning dark, sipping double-strength coffee, and listening through the A.M. static to distant radio stations still operating on nighttime power. Later on, of course, I realized that it all added up to good training for running the night-shift in a Tactical Operations Center ("TOC"), keeping an ear on multiple radio nets. You might say I was driven to success.

I don't miss the periods of forced wakefulness, but I do miss the deliberate mindfulness and mental preparation brought about by long miles.

Many of my former colleagues were on drill status last weekend, so it was appropriate that the on-line version of the Veterans Writing Project's "O-Dark-Thirty" journal coincidentally published a poem written about those early-morning Interstate commutes. It's called "dawn patrol," and I hope you like it.

You can read it here.

*****

You can now support the Washington, D.C.-based non-profit Veterans Writing Project, publishers of the on-line and print literary journals "O-Dark-Thirty," by participating in the AmazonSmile program. Designate the Veterans Writing Project as your favorite non-profit here, and Amazon will donate 0.5 percent of the price of your eligible shopping to the organization.

For an Amazon FAQ regarding the program, click here.

'Talk of Iowa' Radio Explores Veterans and Writing

I participated in a "Talk of Iowa" program on Iowa Public Radio yesterday, Thurs., May 13, regarding how veterans and families can communicate their military experiences through writing and music.

Also participating were host Charity Nebbe, Iraq War veteran and poet Hugh Martin, and Vietnam and Gulf War veteran Lem Genovese.

Martin is the recent winner of The Iowa Review's Jeff Sharlet Memorial Award for Veterans. He's also author of the recent poetry collection "The Stick Soldiers."

During the interview, I found out Martin is also a former Ohio Army National Guard soldier, although I didn't have a chance to find out whether he ever wore the "Buckeye" patch of the 37th Infantry Division. I've gotten a chance to write about that unit once or twice.

I first met Genovese at an April writing workshop for veterans in Iowa City. The former Iowa Army National Guard medic continues to provide care, comfort, and inspiration to military families through his words and music.

For my part, I chose to read from an excerpt of a 2012 Memorial Day essay, which I'd written for the Iowa Press (Iowa) Press-Citizen. It paired nicely with one of Martin's poems, and, more importantly to me, was another opportunity to share the names of the four citizen-soldiers who were killed during the 2010-2011 deployment of 2nd Brigade Combat Team (B.C.T.), 34th Infantry "Red Bull" Division.

You can listen to the 50-minute archived program here. Left-click the "listen" button to stream the audio. Right-click the button to save the program on your computer as an MP3 file.

A Post-Thanksgiving Situation Report

There are plenty of leftover blog-blessings to count in this post-Thanksgiving haze. Forgive the short-hand, but I've been told that brevity is the soul of wit. Besides, I miss the push-to-talk button on my old Army radio.

Performed in the days leading up to Veterans Day, the first run of "Telling: Des Moines" went very well. It was a lot of work at the last minute, it was a great and humbling experience, and I was blessed to share the stage with a number of friends, both old and new. We hope to re-stage the work in Central Iowa sometime in spring or summer 2013. People laughed, they cried, it was better than "Cats."

Also in November, I was invited to participate in a Washington, D.C. conference titled "Common Ground: The Media, the Military, and P.T.S.D." Underwritten by The Robert R. McCormick Foundation; facilitated by the William Allen White School of Journalism at the University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kan.; and held at the National Press Club. There were lots of insights and ideas bounced around the room.

During a quick lunch at the conference, I got to stop by the nearby Medill News Service offices, introduced myself to a few Military Reporters & Editors members there, and collected a handsome plaque.

More news: I have recently taken a full-time military-writing position with an undisclosed firm. I continue to wear Hawaiian shirts on a daily basis, although I am holding off on growing the required graybeard. One may be issued to me at a later date.

I don't plan to write about the mil-contracting gig here on the Red Bull Rising blog, but I can say it's nice to see some familiar faces on a more regular basis. I have officially returned to the ranks of the CAC-holders, and it's proving an opportunity to expand my writing skills into new territory. Nothing too sexy or strategic, mind you, but I am enjoying the new intellectual challenge.

Time, energy, and eyesight, on the other hand, are increasingly low in supply. The blog will have to find a new frequency, a new normal, a new battle rhythm.

Finally, I am pleased to report that an additional sponsor of the Red Bull Rising blog is pending announcement in December. Remembering, supporting, and celebrating our soldiers, veterans, and families—whether in writing or other ways—continues to attract fellow travelers, supporters, and practitioners.

Thank you for your continued readership. It looks to be a rather eventful 2013.

Peace on Earth? Listen Through the Static

"What? They are still having WARS?!" asks my backseat conscience. Seven-year-old Lena sounds exasperated.

Mentally, I quickly tune in to the car radio. A Medal of Honor recipient is describing his actions in World War II: "My commanding officer asked me, as the last flamethrower operator that he had in his company, because the others had either been killed or wounded, if I thought I could do something about some of the pillboxes ..."

War can be a heck of a way to start the day. Especially if you're only in elementary school.

So far, it is a snowless winter in Iowa. Starting in darkness, my pre-writing routine involves troop transport: First daycare, then first-grade. During a short suburban commute to school, our days unwrap themselves in purple-gray light, then quickly warm to cornflower blue. Trees and houses on the horizon silhouette themselves like paper cutouts, back-lit in pink and apricot.

I have never been a morning person, but this is my favorite time of day. It is calm and peaceful, even with the radio on.

I remember dashing to weekend drills in the National Guard, waking up at oh-dark-thirty to speed along zippers of interstate highway, the sun rising to reveal the snow-dusted corn stubble rolling and rippling alongside my car. I'd have a stainless-steel bullet of scalding coffee in one hand, steering wheel in the other. Life was good.

Happiness is a 0700 first formation and a couple of hours to get there. Better still, an AM radio spouting sad tales and news of the world, country music stations bleeding into BBC World Service.

Bonus Sherpa tip: Bursts of static mean there's a thunderstorm on the way.

Army communications training taught me to mentally push past the white noise, and to sort and separate snippets of simultaneous conversation. Stations are always talking over and on top of each other, like it's a cocktail party. Or a Twitter feed. Get into the zone, and you can regulate the radio mentally into the background, until you hear something of interest. Like your callsign. Or your daughter.

As part of a family budget-cutting move, I recently cancelled the subscription for my car's satellite radio. That means no more commercial-free, kid-friendly tunes at the punch of a pre-set. Usually, I remember to turn off the radio while shuttling the kids around. That way, I can avoid topical potholes such as roadside bombs and robot planes, and people getting killed.

When I forget to turn the radio off, morning drive-time can become an exercise in addressing Lena's hard questions.

I try to answer honestly and simply. Lena knows that I used to be a soldier. And her classmates have friends and family who are still in uniform. Even though most every Red Bull soldier we know personally is back from Afghanistan (but not from Iraq), she's still quick to pick up on war-related news.

Like my Mama Sherpa would say, back when Sherpa was still in short pants: "Little cornstalks have big ears."

She wasn't kidding.

Recently, for example, Lena zeroed in on a report about burn-out rates of U.S. Air Force drone pilots. While such pilots are sitting safe in cockpits here in the states, they're also omnipresent witnesses to events downrange: Watch a guy for days or weeks. Establish his habits and routines. Then, if and when necessary, pull the trigger.

Imagine how jarring it would be to then be able to drive home as if nothing happened.

Physical distance can create emotional dissonance. Ask any radio operator who's been located the safe end of the conversation, while his buddies are in contact with the enemy. It can feel pretty impotent to be armed only with words.

"Why are they hurting?" Lena asks about the drone pilots.

"Because pilots are like soldiers. They don't like to hurt people. But, sometimes, they have to shoot their weapons."

"Why do they have to shoot people?"

"Sometimes, they have to shoot people--bad guys--in order to keep other people safe."

"How does shooting someone make us safer?"

Good question, kid. One that more of us probably need to ask, given the state of the world, and the sentiments of the Christmas season.

I'm conflicted. While I'd like Daddy's little warrior-princess to keep believing in Santa Claus and pixie dust, I'd also like her to keep asking the tough and critical questions. If Lena has to grow up--and Household-6 says that she will, regardless of my efforts--I'd like it to be in a world in which war is considered the exception, and not the rule.

Peace on Earth? Put your ears on. Listen through the static. Watch for the dawn. And consider the tough questions.

Especially if they come from your kids.

Iowa Group to Raise 'Red Bull' Puppies

Official U.S. Army Photo: LAGHMAN PROVINCE, Afghanistan--U.S. Army Spc. Ahren Blake, a combat medic from Clinton, Iowa, with Company D, 1st Battalion, 133rd Infantry Regiment, Task Force Ironman, a part of the 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 34th Infantry Division, Task Force Red Bulls, holds two puppies he found at an observation post in the Aziz Khan Kats Mountain Valley range near Jalalabad, Afghanistan April 15. The puppies have been living with the Afghan National Army Weapons Company, 2nd Battalion, 201st Infantry Corps, which man the Observation Posts that 3rd Platoon visited. See related news article here. (Photo by U.S. Army Staff Sgt. Ryan C. Matson, Task Force Red Bulls Public Affairs)

*****

Paws & Effect, a Des Moines, Iowa-based non-profit organization that raises and trains service dogs for Iowa combat veterans, announced earlier in April that a litter of five service-dogs-in-training has been named in honor of 3,000 Iowa National Guard soldiers currently deployed to Afghanistan. The puppies will be raised by local volunteers for up to 18 months, then professionally trained and placed with veterans diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (P.T.S.D.) or mobility impairments.

Psychiatric service dogs assist handlers in navigating stressful environments and situations, both at home and in public. In public, service dogs often wear uniforms to indicate their special purpose. According to Paws & Effect, raising and training one psychiatric service dog costs approximately $20,000.

Born in the United States, the black Labrador puppies of the “Red Bull” litter are named:

• “Ryder”: In the 2nd Brigade Combat Team (B.C.T.), 34th Infantry “Red Bull” Division (2-34th BCT), the commander's radio callsign is "Ryder-6." During World War II, Maj. Gen. Charles W. Ryder commanded the 34th Infantry Division in North Africa and Italy. The 2-34th BCT is headquartered in Boone.

• “Avauncez” (aka “Vance” or “Van”): The 1st Battalion, 133rd Infantry Regiment (1/133rd Inf.) motto is French for "advance" or "forward." The 1/133rd Inf. is headquartered in Waterloo.

• “Sabre”: Radio callsign of 1st Squadron, 113th Cavalry Regiment (1/113th Cav.), Sioux City.

• “Archer”: Radio callsign of the 334th Brigade Support Battalion (334th BSB), headquartered in Johnston. Task Force Archer is currently in charge of administering Bagram Airfield, the largest installation in Afghanistan and home to approximately 30,000 U.S. and coalition troops.

• “Havoc”: Radio callsign of the 2nd Brigade Special Troops Battalion, 34th Infantry Division (2/34th BSTB), headquartered in Cedar Rapids.

“Our latest litter of dogs has been named in honor of the 34th Infantry ‘Red Bull’ Division, which has a proud Midwestern history, dating from the World Wars to present-day Iraq and Afghanistan,” says Nicole Shumate (“shoo-mayt”), executive director of Paws & Effect. “Additionally, while in training, they’ll wear the same special camouflage as the Iowans and Nebraskans currently deployed to Afghanistan.”

The organization had earlier hinted at the pending puppy news at a March 28 event, celebrating a series of televised Public Service Announcements that featured Iowa National Guard soldiers and airmen.

Before it deployed to eastern Afghanistan in October 2010, the Iowa National Guard’s 2-34th BCT was one of the first U.S. Army units to be issued the Afghanistan-specific “MultiCam” pattern. Military apparel manufacturer Propper International Inc., Weldon Spring, Mo. has constructed and donated MultiCam service-dog uniforms for the “Red Bull” litter.

“As a company rooted in military heritage, we fully support Paws & Effect in their mission to provide services to Iowa veterans,” says Megan Henderson, marketing manager for Propper International. “We look forward to watching these puppies grow in the months to come, and to welcoming our troops home.”

In addition to training service and mobility dogs, Paws & Effect provides “Pet Partners” for animal-assisted therapy and activities. It also regularly conducts agility trials as fund-raising events. Because it is a 501(c)3 organization, donations to Paw & Effect are tax-deductible.

For more information on the Paws & Effect organization, visit: paws-effect.blogspot.com

Four More Things I Learned from My Uncle Sam

Continuing yesterday's musings about things I've learned during more than 20 years in uniform ...

5. USE RADIO-TELEPHONE PROCEDURE, OVER

Here's a confession: I gave up trying to lose the habit of speaking in radio-telephone lingo a long time ago. Instead of "bye-bye," I close my telephone conversations with "OUT." When I call someone--even a good friend, I'm likely to identify myself like I would on the radio: "Friend? THIS IS ..." For the record, Scout, they're called "procedure words" or "pro-words."

Years later, I knew I'd married well when Household-6 was about to give me some information over the telephone. When she told me to "PREPARE TO COPY," I fell in love all over again.

ROGER, honey!

I realize it all sounds a little silly, of course, but there's some family tradition here, too. Maybe that's really why I keep doing it. For the longest time, for example, my parents would talk over little Sherpa's head by using the same international phonetic alphabet the Army would eventually teach me. Example: "Time to give Sherpa a Bravo-Alpha-Tango-Hotel."

Take the first letter in each word. Get it now? I sure didn't.

Even if a kid can spell, the phonetic alphabet adds another layer of encryption. Used in short bursts, it's a parental Enigma machine.

In another example, I remember listening to my mother talk to my overseas Air Force father via some sort of telephone-to-radio link. It was a Military Affiliate Radio System (MARS) call, that reached all the way into our kitchen telephone. I remember that Mom had to say "over" at the end of each thought, to let my father know it was his turn to talk. I also remember wondering how, exactly, my father was on Mars.

"I love you, OVER ..."

6. KEEP YOUR KNEES BENT

Whether you're on guard duty, or standing in some hours-long formation while 16 bloviating general officers wish you luck and give you advice, it's a good idea never to lock your knees. People pass out that way.

You can stand for hours with your knees bent slightly. Think of it as skiing, without the hills, the scenery, or the fun.

7. THE WORST THING ABOUT GETTING WET IS GETTING WET

Some of my basic Army training took place at Fort Lewis, Wash. That's when I learned that parts of Washington state qualify as sub-tropical rain forest. It rained and drizzled constantly.

We had meager rain gear in those days--a rubberized poncho was about it. The worst part of the experience was when you were still a little dry, and you started to feel the soggy, creepy cold crawl up your skin: Your boots got wet, your socks got wet, your pants got wet--you got wet. After that, it warn't nothing but a thing. You still had to watch yourself for trench foot or hypothermia, of course, but the worst thing about getting wet wasn't the water, it was getting wet. Everything after that was just more of the same.

8. SEEK RESPONSIBILITY, TAKE RESPONSIBILITY

I remember seeing a squad of infantry introduce themselves, one by one, to an audience of us new recruits. Each one sounded off with name, rank, and their function on the team: "Grenadier," "rifleman," "radio-telephone operator," and the like. After naming their position, they'd rattle off their responsibilities: "I am responsible for ..."

The squad leader stepped forward last. "I am responsible for everything my squad does, or fails to do."

I can't tell you how many times I've waited to hear a political or business leader say something like that. Step up, say your name, take ownership of what happened. Tell people what you'll make happen, and let yourself be judged on performance.

Be responsible.

A CAU by any other name ...

The Crew Access Units (CAU, pronounced "cow") that network into the Command Post Platform (C.P.P.) vehicles I mentioned yesterday are touch-screen machines that sit on our desks in the Tactical Operations Center (TOC, pronounced "talk"). They feature noise-cancelling headphones, through which one can listen to various radio networks, phone conversations, and intercom chatter. Using a CAU, you can call people on a radio that's physically located many tents away from you. You can call people on the phone. You can even text-message them, albeit using an ungainly and agonizingly slow user-interface.

Hey, kids--could you show Sherpa how 2 abbreviate "incoming artillery" on this here ding-dang iPhone contraption?

Since we live here in hog heaven and cow county, Iowa, and since our unit patch is a red bull, I found myself incapable of fighting the urge to udder every bovine pun I could come up with during CAU training:

• "We'll be here until the CAUs come home."
• "Hey, what's spooking the CAUs?"
• "Turn it up! We need more CAU-bell!"
• With apologies to Sandra Boynton, "did I mention they're CAUs?"

Of course, my absolute favorite in this bull run of punnery was the visual one captured above, with a CAU laying on its side ...

"CAU-tipping."

Pimp my Ryder TOC

It might not look like much to you, but this picture of my unit's latest equipment makes this old Army communications soldier get all misty and tingly. Maybe he's just not grounded properly ... More likely, however, it's just feelings of good old nostalgia setting in. After all, the names and equipment may have changed from 20 years ago, but a van-based commo van on the back of a two-seater Humvee is pretty much the spitting image of my first tactical ride.

So, this picture makes me happy. To me, it's the Army version of a 1970-something conversion van featuring a purple shag-carpet on all interior surfaces--including the dashboard--with an scene airbrushed on its exterior involving an armored-yet-bikini-wearing young lass and a dragon ... or, better yet, a robot ... or, even better, a robot dragon ... the overall artistic impression of this adolescent piece of work being akin to the worldly pin-up girl on the nose of Grandpa's bomber in World War II. Yes, I said that all in one breath.

Oh, and that van would have a name--something like "Cap'n America" ... or "Mister E Machine" ... or "Thor's Hammock."

This new equipment is called a "Command Post Platform," or "C.P.P." There are four of them that "boot in" (connect to) our brigade's Tactical Operations Center (TOC, pronounced "talk). (By the way, if I haven't mentioned it before, our brigade radio callsign is "Ryder"--a reference to Maj. Gen. Charles W. Ryder. I hope that explains the "Pimp my ..." title of this post a little more.) It's chockfull of radios and computer routers and other communications equipment, evidenced by the many antennas bristling on top of its Rigid Wall Shelter (R.W.S.).

When I first joined the Iowa Army National Guard, we had a whole battalion of similar Humvee-shelter combinations. Radio and telephone operators used to sit in the little air-conditioned "vans"--the cool air was for the maintenance of equipment, not the comfort of the soldiers--but it was still one of the best jobs in the Army.

These CPPs are pretty much set-up-and-forget. They don't require a soldier to sit inside them to act as an operator, in the old telephone-switchboard sense of the word. Users throughout the TOC can use radios, text-message, and communicate via the intercoms provided by the CPP, using desktop devices called Crew Access Units (CAU, pronounced--I am not making this up--"cows."). The CAU headphones are noise-cancelling, and you can actually set them up to monitor a different radio conversation in each ear. I'm in multi-tasking TOC-rat heaven.

That's why, although it's not exactly my baby anymore, this picture makes me happy. All it needs is a little up-armor. And some fuzzy dice. And some nose art.

"If the commo van's a rockin', don't come a'knockin'."

Ezekiel Saw the System within the System ...

I'm pleased to report that, perhaps in part due to my earlier safety-related tantrums, the trainers on the our unit's Deployable Rapid Assembly Shelter (DRASH) systems--comprising tents, generators, and Environmental Control Units (E.C.U.)--led off smartly into the new module of instruction this morning. Everything was by the book, with no silly remarks about the manual being somehow wrong when it came to eye- or ear-protection.

We're into learning about yet another building block of the Standard Integrated Command Post System (SICUPS--pronounced "sick-ups"). SICUPS comprises the DRASH system, a multi-mode communications device called a Crew Access Unit (CAU--pronouned "cow"), some video-projection screens, and other techy stuff. Once you establish your digital Tactical Operations Center (TOC--pronounced "talk") using SICUPS, each section installs its respective machines in the Army Battle Command System (ABCS)--which is itself a "system of systems." I know I've generally described these in an earlier post, but I thought I'd list some of them here, in all of their acronymal glory. Here are just some of the usual suspects:

• Maneuver Control System (M.C.S.)
• Advanced Field Artillery Tactical Data System (AFATDS--pronounced "af-fay-tads")
• Tactical Air Integration System (TAIS--pronounced "tay-iss")
• Air and Missile Defense Workstation (AMDWS--pronounced "am-dooze")
• Battle Command Sustainment Support System (B.C.S.3.)

And, the granddaddy acronym of them all: F.B.C.B.2., which stands for "Force XXI Battle Command, Brigade & Below." The particular flavor of FBCB2 our unit is fielding is called "Blue Force Tracker" (B.F.T.). Also related to ABCS is the Command Post of the Future (CPOF--pronounced "see-pauf").

In less than two weeks, our brigade staff sections will go from having only pieces and parts of this primordial acronymn soup, this uber-system of systems, to being expected to do everything from set up the tents, plug all the black boxes together, turn them on, and make them talk to each other. We may even be expected to crawl through some of our basic staff "battle drills"--checklists of coordinated actions to executed following a specified event.

I'd compare this effort to starting a new football season while facing the following complications:

• First: Learn how to build a stadium. One that you can take down and put up in another city, for when you're traveling.
• Next, picking your team members from any from most any group but the varsity football squad (one from soccer, one from gymnastics, one from the debate team, and so on).
• Next, have them learn Microsoft Vista, LINUX, or some other suitably foreign computer system in order to do the same jobs they already know how to do from years of physical practice.
• Declare that, by the end of the season, you will field a championship team, one offering of an explosive offense and an imposing defense; capable not only of playing the game but teaching the junior varsity how to play it as well; and featuring special teams that can easily take the the opposing quarterback out with one shot from a robotic aircraft.

Now I Know My ABCS

In late February, I pulled two weeks in snowy Pennsylvania, where I learned the ins-and-outs (and inputs-and-outputs) among Army Battle Command Systems (A.B.C.S.)--the "system of systems" that today's Army uses to command and control its specialty functions.

In our new digital Tactical Operations Centers (TOC), soldiers like me no longer track the battle using radios and maps and pushpin flags. Instead, we practically play video games. There's a computer system for controlling artillery fires, and one for monitoring logistics and personnel statuses. There's one for drawing maps and overlays. There's one for analyzing terrain, and another for filtering through reports of enemy activity. There's even one for updating the weather forecast, and one for tracking aircraft moving through the area.

There are related systems, too, including "Blue Force Tracker" (B.F.T.)--which shows the pretty-close-to-current locations of friendly vehicles--and "Command Post of the Future" (CPOF), which commanders use to "visualize the battlefield." The latter acronym is pronounced "see-poff," and invites the question: "If we have a 'Command Post of the Future' in our possession, isn't it really more like a 'Command Post of the Present?'")

All of these TOC systems talk with each other in different ways, so that everyone on the battlefield is reacting to the same events at relatively the same times. That "Fog of War" you always hear about? We're throwing a lot of money, mental power, and technology to see through those clouds of uncertainty.

Near as I can tell, we're still years away from the Army network achieving self-awareness. That's more the stuff of science fiction, like Skynet from "The Terminator," or Colossus from "The Forbin Project." The ABCS suite seems to be a kludged-together constellation of separately developed machines, which is now expected to work as one. I'm not an expert troubleshooter yet, but I bet it's going to be like trying to get a humidifier and a dehumidifier to work in the same room together. Oh, and both of them are armed. With mops. And lasers.

Still, whenever you can paint a more accurate picture for commanders--where our troops are, where the enemy is likely to be, how we can best achieve the mission--we fight better, more efficiently, and more safely. Computers can help with that, as long as we lowly humans recognize their limitations. We created them, after all, in our own limited frames of reference.

Even the best computer system--or system of systems--can still fall prey to user-input error. Garbage in, garbage out.

What's my job? It's either to sort through the garbage, or to make sure that the compactor works really, really well.

Home Sweet Tank

As Household-6 will attest (and protest), I'm a chronic do-it-myselfer and home remodeler. For example, I've been working on finishing the basement for what seems to be nearly a decade now. I'd better get cracking if I want it done before I ship out.

I mentioned a few days ago that I've been attending some Army training here in Fort Indiantown Gap, Penn. It's a long way from push-to-talk radio stuff, but it's a lot about how the Army moves information around the battlefield these days. Lucky for me, it's as much hands-on as it is PowerPoint briefings, but I worry about retaining it all. We've been drinking from the proverbial firehose since we got here, and my brain was pretty much fried by the end of Tuesday's sessions.

Unfortunately, the Internet service to our barracks was equally fried much of Monday and Tuesday, and I couldn't e-mail friends and family. Just the first of many communications outages, I suppose, but it was frustrating.

With nothing to do on my computer--I didn't much feel like playing video games, because the modern Army makes video games seem like work--I tried watching TV in the barracks. I was pleased to find cable TV offerings such as Comedy Central, Speed, and the Military Channel, but would've really enjoyed kicking back with "This Old House" or some other home-improvement show.

Home-improvement shows are less about reality, I know, and more about fantasy: People always seem to get done in time and under budget. Hey, a guy can dream, can't he?

Anyway, tonight I found the Army's apparent answer to do-it-yourselfing: The Military Channel was airing back-to-back episodes of "Tank Overhaul," a 2007 and 2009 TV show that tracks the efforts of hobbyists who rehabilitate old military hardware.

I still prefer Home Depot to the Army Depot, but, hey, any part (you heard me) in a storm.

Re: Establishing the Net

SHERPA SENDS: Back in the day, when men were real men, and U.S. Army uniforms were a hardy coffee-stain-resistant green, and tactical radios were Vietnam-era VHF hot-boxes, you had to wait at least a half-second after pushing the radio-handset to talk, then limit your message in 3 to 5 seconds in order to avoid Radio-Direction Finding (RDF). In the latter, extremely constrained conversational environment, radio-telephone operators (RTO) were real RTOs, and they rode herd daily on the radio by formally opening and closing the "nets."

Radiio-frequencies were then dictated by printed sets of "Signal Operating Instructions," or "SOI": Spreadsheets assigning the daily frequencies, callsigns, and identification codes for each organization on the battlefield. The documents were allegedly randomly generated by magic black boxes located at the National Security Agency. The SOI was designed to confound any enemy's attempt to listen in our conversations, figure out who was where and doing what to whom, and to otherwise crack our battle plans. Oftentimes, however, it ended up confusing our own soldiers.

Keep in mind that, at the time, most voice-radio traffic was "in the clear" and unencrypted. Any 12-year-old with a Ruskie-knockoff of a Radio Shack Bearcat scanner probably could have intercepted our radio conversations. Then again, 12-year-olds back then were real 12-year-olds.

Following the SOI, every organization changed to a different frequency each day; if someone was listening in on 72.50 yesterday, they'd find someone else there today, or no one at all. And every organization used a different callsign, too. If you were "Victor-Two-Zero" yesterday, you might be "Yankee-One-Six" (or anything else) the next.

No sexy "Hollywood" or "Clint Eastwood" or "John Wayne" callsigns were allowed--made up names and numbers that users would want to keep from day to day. No "Red Bull Six." No "Stonewall Niner." That way lay not only chaos, but also massive leaks in your organization's operational security (OPSEC), and almost certain death by radio-detecting artillery shells. No, Hollywood callsigns would be authorized later, after the Army fielded the next generations of frequency-hopping tactical radios.

The RTOs sitting in the battalion (or company, or brigade) Tactical Operations Center (TOC) would, if operating a "closed net," require each party wishing to use a particular frequency to, in order: formally call them, request for permission to enter the net, authenticate that they were actually who they said they were using some special codes in the back of the SOI, then, finally, "request permission to use "abbreviated" callsigns--three-character shorthand forms of the five-character alphanumeric callsigns listed in the SOI. After successfully running this procedural gauntlet, the RTO would probably instruct the calling station that they were to monitor this frequency at all times, and that they would be expected to quickly reply to any radio-checks conducted by RTO.

(Sometime, I'll relate some old RTO war stories here. Like when an RTO buddy of mine attempted to kick the battalion operations officer off his own net for not using the correct procedure: "Son, I OWN this net!" Classic. Echoes of Ronald Reagan's "I paid for this microphone ...")

All this formal RTO procedure was all very time-consuming, but it kept the TOC-rats at both ends busy and half-awake, if not exactly happy. Today, however, soldiers have frequency-hopping radios, which jump around the radio-dial thousands of times a second, preventing RDF. If someone wants to listen in on your radio conversation, they'd need to have a radio in sync with the same frequency-hopping sequence as you. And, even then, they'd also need the same encryption key--otherwise, all they'd hear was a scrambled set of sounds. There is simply less need for formal RTO procedure. Kids these days have no radio manners.

That's assuming, of course, that you're even talking via terrestrial radios. Like much of the civilian world, Uncle Sam has invested big in satellite-based communications systems: "Hitting the bird" from wherever you're at, particularly in a mountainous land, is much easy than trying to broadcast an FM signal from a high enough point with power sufficient to be heard. And there's probably people, not always unfriendly people either, trying to jam your signals to boot.

What's with all this radio-headed reverie? No. 1, I'm probably feeling yet another Happy New Year older, and realizing that I've become that soldier I didn't quite understand when I first put on the uniform more than two decades ago: I'm now officially the guy who probably has more useless knowledge about "How We Used to Do Things" than he does "The Way We Do Things Now." That's not to say that I'm ready to go to that big Bullpen in the Sky, of course, or even just to fade away. I'm living proof that you can teach an Old Bull new tricks. That doesn't prevent me from feeling more Old than Bullish sometimes.

No. 2, I think I'm done kicking the tires of this ding-dang Internet thing, and am now ready to buy. The first rule of troubleshooting a radio is: "Check to see if it's plugged in." The second rule is: "Hit it with a hammer." I've plugged the 1.0 version of this blog in, hit it with a few hammers (uploaded images, validated different ways to post) to check functionality. I'm ready to rock--or, probably more accurately, as ready to rock as I ever was. (Note to self: I probably need to put that on a T-shirt.) More details and changes to come, I'm sure.

In developing this site, I've also been tweaking my "tasks-and-purposes." You'll find them listed at the bottom of the page. So, finally, let me celebrate this first day of 2010, by welcoming you to Red Bull Rising net. Hollywood callsigns are (obviously) authorized. Have an Army day.

NITFM

I've been beating my head against my windscreen for about 12 hours, trying to get life and soul and URL to match up with one another. Finally got it to work, everything aligned in a tenuous harmonic convergence. Not sure quite what I did, what I might do to make it all work again, but it works, and that's good enough for government work and combat applications at a tactical level.

Back in the day, they'd tell you to read a manual. Even in the early days of the Interweb, there was an acronym: "RTFM." Stood for "Read the F'n Manual."

These days, with on-line "help" pull-downs, and collaborative forums and fauna, there's not even a manual. You just click and hop and hope from place to place, plucking this thread and that thread and maybe you come to something close to your answer, in the form of someone else's problem.

So I got things to work, no thanks to anyone else in particular. It reminded me of some of that RTO-mojo they used to teach us: If it doesn't work, plug and re-plug. Point the omni-directional antenna in the direction you wish to transmit. Use some toothpaste or a pencil eraser to clean your contacts. Wet a towel and drape it over your radio to help cool it off in the desert heat.

Not In Any F'n Manual, my friends. NITFM.